


How To Hook A Superhero

by daynight



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: AU-Half Canon?, Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Hook-Up, M/M, Not So Innocent Steve, Photographer! Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 04:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2334497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daynight/pseuds/daynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is a college student who just got the internship of a lifetime, assisting a photographer whose latest assignment is to profile Captain America. The Captain couldn't possibly be interested…right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Hook A Superhero

“Man, I still can’t believe you got that awesome internship!” Bucky’s roommate, Clint, was shaking his shoulder in pride. “How the hell did you manage it!”

“Hard fucking work.”

“Lies, I bet it was blow jobs.” Bucky threw his pillow at him, catching the other boy straight in the face, grinning despite himself. They were both reclining on their beds, facing each other on opposite sides of the tiny dorm room. Bucky’s side was reasonably neat, apart the film rolls piled up and the jumble of various cameras on his desk. Clint’s was an absolute wreck.

“If that was the case you’d have a good internship too…”

“Fuck you, I don’t need one. Got my archery haven’t I?” Before meeting Clint, Bucky hadn’t even known that you could get a scholarship to do archery at their school. It was lucky, really, because if he weren’t working towards Olympic level in his sport, Clint would have been kicked out ages ago. All he did was sit around, smoke weed and watch obscure nature videos about birds of prey, occasionally breaking this impressive schedule by attending a wild party or finally turning up to the archery tournaments and causing jaws to drop with his unexpected skill level. Classes were not exactly appealing. Bucky wasn’t that keen on conventional classes either but he’d really excelled in his photography and was particularly devoted to the medium. He had been interested in it back in high school, but his practise had really grown with university, so much so that his work was starting to get noticed, sprawling colourful landscapes of New York, portraits of Clint letting the arrow fly just at the right moment. He had built up his portfolio the entire summer and had just been accepted for a prestigious internship as an assistant to a well-known photographer. He couldn’t be more proud or excited, and he started the next day.

“Wanna go out tonight? Meet some girls we can brag to?”

Bucky considered the idea. It was probably an incredibly bad one, but he couldn’t really resist a party. Pulling on his battered leather jacket, cigarettes tucked in the top pocket, he grinned at his roommate.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

* * *

 

The worst thing that could happen was two screeching girls who wouldn’t leave until 4:00 am, an incredibly annoyed RA, Clint attempting to piss off the balcony and a banging, soul crushing head-ache that was almost crippling him as he headed on the subway to get to the studio the next morning. “I’m an idiot.” He muttered to himself. Luckily, he managed to keep it together all the way to the studio and beyond, shaking hands with the photographer, giving him a charming smile that he hoped disguised his wretched dark circles. The photographer seemed pleased to meet him, eyes scanning over his slightly dishevelled appearance; messy dark bed hair and preppy blue pea coat. He appeared to deem him acceptable, and went about giving him tasks to prep the studio for some people coming in later.

“What’s the magazine?” He asked a stylist, who was milling around.

“New York Times”

“Really? No shit? That’s awesome.”

She smiled at him wearily.

“Yeah. First day?”

“How could you tell?”

“You’re pretty eager. Plus I would have noticed someone as hot as you working here.” She smiled flirtily at him then walked away to inspect the racks of clothing options. Bucky grinned. Even hung-over, he still got it. He made a mental note to check up on her later. The photographer beckoned him over, showing him the camera set up and the subject entered the studio, to a flurry of whispers and excitement. Now Bucky had volunteered once at a studio before and he knew these professional types were so blasé that they never got up in arms about celebrities, eschewing being impressed for cool discernment, so he supposed whoever they were photographing had to be pretty amazing. He subtly turned around to sneak a look at the person.

Holy shit.

It was fucking Captain America.

_Jesus Christ._

Bucky had expected to be some level of star struck at this job, but he never thought the big man himself to come strolling into the studio. He had been a huge fan since he was at school, reading about him in history books. He had also eagerly followed the news, like most Americans with a TV, when Cap had been defrosted out of the ice. He just never thought he would be this close to him. He looked, impossibly, even bigger in real life than he did on the screen or in the comic books, with huge shoulders and arms and a surprising trim waist. He was smiling shyly as the makeup people attacked him, all dressed up in his full Captain America uniform, obviously used to being fussed over by a multitude of assistants, polite as anything. He sat on the stool in front of a white back drop and blinked sheepishly at the camera as the photographer snapped away. Bucky found it hard to focus on the techniques his new boss was using, instead staring in awe at his subject. Captain America was not really a natural in front of the camera, not really a preener or a poseur. He sat ramrod straight, holding his shield on his lap like he was posing for his school photo. Although he wasn’t really a dynamic subject, he made up for it in exasperating patience, never complaining about the endless camera flashes.

Bucky didn’t really have that much to do that day. He was ordered to bring coffees for the photographer and team, so headed out to the nearest Starbucks. After considering it for a moment at the counter, he shelled out some of his own money and also got a plain black coffee, no sugar. Returning to the studio, he handed the other coffees around and then went to approach the Captain, who was sat in the corner by himself, scrolling through his phone solemnly with his great big hands. Most of the crew gave him a wide berth, completely intimidated in his presence.

“Hey.” The Captain looked up, surprised, big blue eyes wide behind the mask. “I got you, uh, some coffee. It’s just plain.” The captain stared at him for a moment, then smiled warmly.

“Great. That’s just how I take it.” He took the coffee from Bucky, gloved fingers brushing against him. “Thanks.” Bucky gave him a grin in return.

“No problem.”

 _Holy fuck_ , though Bucky as he turned around to help the photographer set the shot up again, _I can’t believe I just spoke to Captain America._

* * *

 

“No shit!”

“Yes shit dude!”

“Woah. What’s he like?”

“I dunno he’s pretty…quiet? Doesn’t talk much.”

“Huh. Is he as stacked as he looks?”

“Bigger. Built like a fucking house.”

“Jesus, I’ve gotta get to the gym.” Clint flopped down next to him on the bed as Bucky recounted his day, suitably impressed. “So…you wanna go out again tonight?”

Bucky inclined his head, thoughtful, running his hand through his short brown hair.

“Nah…shoot continues tomorrow, and we’re taking it outside, central park. Need to be ready.” Clint grinned at him, flicking his leg.

“You’re not getting boring on me are you Barnes?”

“Wouldn’t think of it, Barton.”

* * *

 

Natural shoots in the open were always way more difficult than studio work, and Bucky was rushed off his feet already. The feature on Captain America required studio stuff and some shots in his native New York, humanizing the superhero, making him a little more approachable to readers. Bucky was helping to set up a light when he heard the rumble of a motorbike behind him. The impressive bike slowed to a halt, and the rider parked it with ease then swung off elegantly. He was enormous and muscular, clad in blue jeans, a white shirt and a navy jacket, with a black helmet on, which he was swiftly removing to reveal a head of slightly mussed blonde hair.

Bucky had seen quite a few pictures of Cap out of his uniform, but he had never expected him to look like this in reality. He had half imagined that the guy went around in high waisted trousers and checked shirts like a grumpy 1940’s grandpa. This guy looked modern, natural, and really, _really_ good. Like incredible good. Bucky tried not to stare like a creep and went back to fiddling with the light.

The shoot was not going well. The Captain spent most of his time trying diligently to pose well, but kept on standing too awkwardly or squinting in the sunlight. Blinking his bambi eyes, he looked like a lost deer in the park as opposed to a powerful superhero. The photographer, sighing in frustration, ordered Bucky to go and move the Captain physically into the spot with the most light.

Approaching him, Bucky gave him a warm smile, which seemed to whack some of the tension out of the increasingly nervous Captain. “Hey dude.” He said, hesitating slightly before taking the captain by his huge shoulders and adjusting his position.

“Just gotta um, move you about a bit. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The Captain was warm like a great big radiator and had one of the prettiest faces that Bucky had ever seen, which was pretty impressive because Bucky had photographed (and dated) a couple of up and coming models in the past. Captain America was no model however, he was far from it and was starting to seem like he really wasn’t enjoying himself. Feeling a bit of pity for the reluctant superhero subject, Bucky decided to impart a bit of advice as he shifted the Captain’s body about to perfectly catch the light. “Don’t look so nervous man, you look like you’re about to ride the Cyclone. Relax a little.”

Captain America adjusted his head downwards, as much as he felt he was allowed, and beamed straight at Bucky like a kid.

“Ugh, the cyclone, get sick every time.” Bucky laughed a little, leaning back to appreciate his handiwork.

“It’s my favourite ride.” Bucky replied as he patted away the dust on the Captain’s shoulder.

“Mine too.” He cocked an eyebrow up at the other man; smile lifting up into a smirk.

“I thought it made you sick.”

“Worth it.” The Captain was looking at him again, seemingly far more relaxed than he previously had been, smiling good-naturedly. Bucky moved away.

“Look’s like you’re good Cap.” He stepped back behind the photographer as he began snapping away again with fervour, trying to tell himself that he did not just call Captain America, symbol of the free world, ‘Cap’. To his face.  _Ugh._

 

* * *

 

The next day was the last of the three-day shoot, this time spent taking pictures of the Captain doing cool poses with his shield in the studio, which he seemed to find incredibly embarrassing. He was in a tight fitting black uniform this time, which was gaining him some very appreciative glances from every female and gay male in the room, although the Captain seemed blissfully unaware of this fact, not noticing the muffled giggle every time he bent down. His cowl was off and his golden hair was all ruffled from the exertion and Bucky kind of wanted to smooth it down, would have done it too if there wasn’t already a team of hair and makeup people there to do it instead.

Every now and again he would get bored and do something utterly amazing, like a spinning mid air kick or leap up from lying on the floor like a cat, and the photographer would gasp, desperate to catch it. Mostly though, the Captain just struggled to follow the orders of the stylists and photographers, uncomfortable when forced to clench his jaw and stare valiantly into the middle distance like a tragic hero. Luckily, Bucky noticed when checking the Mac to look at the photo feed, everything was coming out looking amazing. The man was so classically handsome it was pretty impossible to take a bad photo of him. Bucky’s favourite photos however, were the ones in central park, taken later. The Captain seemed a little bit more carefree, a little bit more human and Bucky privately thought that maybe his efforts to relax the big guy had played a part.

As they finally wrapped up, the crew were arranging to meet for a beer at a nearby bar to celebrate. Bucky had grown friendly with both the photographer in charge and most of the studio and they were all adamant that he came along, despite mild exhaustion. He couldn’t help it. He was a pretty likeable guy. As Bucky was pulling on his blue coat over his neat blue tartan button up, he noticed the Captain, changed back into his regular clothes, the same as before but with a black shirt instead of a white one, in the corner once more, putting his stuff away and checking his phone. Bucky was struck with a sudden idea. He strode over there, ignoring the flabbergasted looks and the desperate hand waving ‘no!’ signals that the crew were sending him. He decided to try his luck.

“Hey, Cap.” Captain America looked startled but not unfriendly. “We’re all going for a drink, do you wanna come?” Captain America coloured slightly at the top of his cheeks and Bucky felt like a bit of a fool. He was a huge celebrity. Of course he wouldn’t say yes. Of course he wouldn’t…

“Sure.” Oh. Okay. That was unexpected. The crew around him muttered in surprise.

“Great! Well we’ll wait for you to get your stuff together and go.” The Captain looked pleased and slung on his jacket. He was about to leave when he suddenly stopped and fumbled around in his pockets.

“Ah, wait.” He produced a pair of black-rimmed glasses and put them on, smiling modesty at Bucky and the crew. “I get, um, recognised a lot.” Bucky wondered why the Captain would think that this made him look any more anonymous, the glasses somehow managing to highlight his ridiculous good looks further, but decided to just humour him and motioned him to follow out to the bar. Stuffed into a tiny booth, Bucky was placed next to Captain America, somehow relegated to be his official caretaker by the rest of the awed crew. The Captain was looking at him in confusion.

“Hey.” He said, and Bucky turned to stare at him questioningly. “Are you old enough to be drinking?” Bucky flushed and bared his teeth, feeling guilty.

“I have a fake I.D.” Surprisingly, Captain America, who Bucky had thought was all innocence and morals just laughed warmly and said 'I guess I'll just have to look after you, then' in his deep voice, which definitely shouldn't have given Bucky a bit of a stiffy. Steve felt impossibly hot and muscular next to Bucky, who was countering his nervousness in his presence by imbibing a lot of booze. He felt his pocket buzz with a text and looked down. 

'Wher r u – Clint’

‘Drinking with fucking CA. Not even fucking lying. Life=made - B’

* * *

 

A couple of pints later and Bucky’s nerves were pretty non-existent, rowdily joking with the whole table, pressed up against Captain America, who, for some bizarre reason, didn't seem to be moving away.

“So Captain…” He began, hazily leaning towards the frankly beautiful guy next to him, who seemed to be as sober as anything and smiling at him politely.

“Steve.”

“Huh?”

“You can call me Steve.”

“Oh…M’Bucky”

“Hi Bucky.” Bucky was getting drunker and Steve’s sunshine smile was pretty much the greatest thing he had ever seen in his booze-addled state. He pressed his hand up to Steve’s chest, hoping he didn’t imagine his breathing hitch. _Damn_. He had a really nice chest. Pretty soon he was resting his head on the Captain’s shoulder, drowsily singing along to the songs in the bar, or chatting about Brooklyn. Steve’s knowledge of the area was a little antiquated but they actually had stuff in common, like an affinity for baseball and a hatred of tourists who stand in your way when you’re trying to bike across Brooklyn bridge. Bucky was finding out that Steve wasn’t at all like you would expect, he was friendly, kind and exceptionally nice. Bucky was also getting to that stage in the night where he really, really needed to take someone home. Woman, man, or, the thought began to dawn on him the more alcohol he drank, _Superhero_.

Most of the crew had dispersed and Steve stayed faithfully at Bucky’s side, probably a bit worried about the way he was swaying, as they stepped out of the bar. Bucky could see other patrons looking at him with complete envy as he exited, Steve in tow and Bucky stared back at them with a look that read ‘hell yeah am I taking home this insanely hot piece tonight, try and stop me’. Even without being immediately recognisable as Captain America, Steve was incredibly desirable, with long legs and muscles like a Greek God, topped with a delicate face. He also seemed as sober as ever and had surprisingly not ditched Bucky yet. In fact, he was looking at him in an odd, dark way as he slung an arm around him.

Bucky reached into his pocket and grabbed a cigarette, offering one to Steve who, of course, shook his head. He watched the way Steve’s big blue eyes followed his lips as they exhaled and considered that he might even be in with a chance, turning up the charm to 110%.

“So…” He smirked, watching Steve blush slightly in an adorable way. “Do you wanna, like, come back to mine?” Steve looked away shyly then back, eye bright.

“Okay.” Captain America was full of surprises and this was pretty damn exciting. Bucky grinned at him conspiratorially. He pulled out his phone and hazily typed up an urgent text.

‘GET OUT oF the ROOM!! NOW! explLAIIIN l8er c u tmmrwssss by’

Feeling satisfied that he got his message across; Bucky grabbed Steve by the arm and dragged him towards a cab. The cab ride was pretty awkward, with Steve sitting up straight as a board as Bucky slumped next to him, stroking his arm as tentatively as he could whilst drunk and increasingly turned on. He glanced up to gage a reaction and noticed his jaw twitching. Interesting. They finally arrived at the dorms, which Steve blanched at a bit, and Bucky handed the cab driver some money as they clambered out. He glanced over at Steve, who was squinting at the building.

“How old are you again?” Steve questioned, eyes still on the University dorms.

“…19”

Steve whistled low then muttered _“What the fuck am I doing.”_ He twisted, grabbed the front of Bucky’s jacket and pulled him into a bruising and enthusiastic kiss. Bucky made an abortive noise of shock, he had fully been expecting to make the first move or, more realistically, nothing to happen at all. His noise then morphed into a low moan as Steve expertly slipped him some tongue, making his knees buckle as Steve held him up by the front of his shirt, kissing him relentlessly. When he pulled away, panting, Bucky made a pathetic little noise that he immediately cursed himself for.

“Jesus.” Steve breathed heavily. “You’re just…too much.” He ran a hand through his blonde hair.

“What?” Spluttered Bucky, trying to collect himself. Steve was looking at his feet, kicking at invisible rocks.

“I just…you’re really.” Steve paused, fixing Bucky in a steady gaze. “You sure you want me to…”

“Am I sure?” Bucky laughed in disbelief. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

“Is that why…” Bucky sidled up to him again, pushing him against the wall outside the dorms with drunken confidence despite being a couple of inches smaller and a little slighter. He pressed his finger squarely into Steve’s chest.

“Plus. You’re really, really cute.” He poked him for emphasis. Steve laughed, warm and deep, then surged down to kiss him again, desperate and sloppy. Bucky broke the kiss reluctantly, hard as a fucking diamond, and pretty much dragged him to his dorm, silencing him with kisses every now and again and almost breaking into a full choral rendition of Hallelujah when he found his room completely vacated, a note from Clint saying he went to stay with Bobbi Morse for the night. Astoundingly forward, Steve wasted no time, pushing him against the door and kissing him silly, apparently unbothered by the not-so-romantic atmosphere of a gross college boy dorm.

Bucky shivered as he began mouthing at his neck.

“ _Holy fuck_. Are you drunk or something?”

“I can’t get drunk.” Answered Steve, matter-of-factly, shifting Bucky’s shirt down so he could run his mouth along his collarbone. Bucky sighed at the contact, then pushed his hands up the inside of Steve’s shirt, feeling the warm muscles.

“Do you just like me or…”

“Yeah.” Steve said quickly, beginning to unbutton Bucky’s shirt with military precision. Bucky stilled his motion to stare at him.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Ever since you got me coffee. No one usually…talks to me at this publicity stuff.”

“So you just have to talk to you to get in your pants?” Steve flushed, mouth turning upwards. He slowly bit his lower lip invitingly, causing Bucky to feel a flash of heat in his lower abdomen.

“And be incredibly attractive.” Bucky laughed at the irony. He was alright, he always had girls telling him that, but compared to Captain America? The guy was practically angelic, right down to the swoop of his long, dark eyelashes. Bucky was a lucky, lucky guy. He felt a sudden extreme urge to see more of him, and began tugging his shirt off, then proceeded to fucking gasp like a virgin at the sight of him.

“Fuck. Me.” He slowly exhaled. Steve grinned, hooked his hands into Bucky’s belt and speedily undid it, also pulling down his fly. He fell to his knees and looked up at him, eyes shining and lips round and reddened like something from a wet dream.

“I’m trying.” It was such a bad joke that Bucky almost groaned, but he quickly found a way to shut him up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

A couple of weeks later,  Clint Barton hummed tunelessly as he headed back to the dorm. He considered texting Bucky to let him know he was coming, but thought better of it.

Bucky was acting super weird lately. For one, he was always out somewhere and when he was back at the dorm he never wanted to come out with him for drinks, which was unusual. He didn’t even glance at the super hot girls that Clint would try and introduce him to, showing zero interest. Bucky had been going off to Coney Island of all places and came back grinning like a loon. It was too suspect. He just kept looking at his phone all the time and smiling this goofy, cheesy, loved up smile that made Clint want to throw up, but when he asked him who the fuck he was texting, Bucky would just tap his nose and grin obnoxiously, just like the little shit he had always been but miles more secretive.

Swinging open the door, Clint was met with a sight he did not expect. At all.

There was a metallic shield at the end of Bucky’s rumpled bed. Next to it, Captain America in all his 6 foot something glory was staring back at him with huge blue eyes, half way through rolling his uniform shirt back on, a suspicious red mark smack bang in the middle of his stomach.

“Hi.” The Captain said after a moment of silence.

* * *

 

 

Bucky was sat in class when his phone started blowing up like crazy. He quickly hid it beneath the desk and snuck a look.

‘WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE BONING CAPTAIN AMERICA’

Ah. Clint had finally caught up.

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently the way to hook a superhero is to simply be nice to him. Aww.


End file.
